


(If I Took You Home It'd Be A) Home Run

by mrs_d



Series: MCU Kink Bingo [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (sort of), (there's not), (wow these tags make it seem like there's a plot), Alternate Universe - Baseball, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, MCU Kink Bingo, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Top Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 05:32:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18584773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: Steve has three goals when he steps up to the plate: Don’t strike out. Get Rhodey home. Fuck Sam.





	1. Dodgers

**Author's Note:**

  * For [iwillnotbecaged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iwillnotbecaged/gifts).



> Title from [“Wild Ones” by Flo Rida and Sia](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nOeBGlyz-Ok), which inspired this idea a long time ago. Special thanks to iwillnotbecaged for being very patient with me, and to Calliope-Soars for beta & cheerleading (as ever <3). 
> 
> For the "Oral Sex" square on my Round 3 Bingo card.
> 
> Disclaimer: Everything I learned about baseball comes from Wikipedia and a very helpful friend, who had no idea that I was going to use his information to make superheroes fuck. Thanks, friend.

“Get me home, Rogers!” Rhodey calls from third base.

Steve nods in his direction as he pulls on his helmet. Top of the seventh, two out, they’re down by one. All he has to do is hit the ball hard enough that Rhodey can score. If they can tie it up here, they’ll have two innings to shut it down. Of course, if they don’t tie it up, and then the home team scores, the game will wrap early, and—

Nope. Can’t think about that, or the guilty-happy feelings that come with the idea of the game ending early. He needs to take one for the team and stick it out. Hit the ball, get Rhodey home.

Steve’s not exactly the best hitter on the team; he’s only 5’9”, and given that he’s kinda scrawny, he doesn’t have a lot of strength to put behind it. But he’s speedy — if he can hit a single, then he can steal. Plus, Thor’s next in the line-up, so if Steve can keep from striking out, Odie might be able to power him home.

He walks up to the plate. All he needs to do is hit the ball. Which means he needs to not focus on the man throwing it.

Even under the stadium lights, Sam Wilson is as beautiful as ever. The light washes Steve out until he’s practically a ghost, but on Sam, it seems to accentuate the sharp curve of his cheekbones, the cut of his jaw. His eyes, always so warm and full of life, glint mischievously as Steve gets into his stance, and then — damn him — Sam winks.

Steve suppresses the grin that wants to break out all over his face. He’s got to focus on the game. It’s terribly distracting — even more so than usual — to face off against Sam tonight.

This is the last night they’ll see each other till the playoffs, assuming they get that far. With Steve in LA and Sam in New York, the only chance they get to fuck is during the road series — meaning they have a week together, three or four times a season. They talk online, obviously, and there’s always the winter, but they both have busy schedules, and it’s just not the same.

Before they went pro, it was easier; they both played college ball in Atlanta till Sam got called up to the Mets. It took every bit of Steve’s restraint not to follow him and move home to New York. When Steve got drafted to the Dodgers, he wanted to cry; he hated that he’d be in a different city, a different division, than Sam. But this is how it’s been for two years, and they’ve adjusted. Now, it’s almost too easy to sneak out after the game to Steve’s place in LA or Sam’s condo in Harlem.

In fact, in just a few hours, he’ll be there. Maybe tonight he’ll fuck Sam up against the wall, right beside that vintage  _ Trouble Man  _ poster that Sam spent his first MLB paycheck on. On the field, Sam may be a pitcher, but at home….

“Strike one!” the umpire yells behind him.

Steve didn’t even get to swing. Sam’s all-but laughing at him from the mound, Steve can tell. He gives himself a shake, noticing as he does that there’s an unpleasant twinge in his lower back — he’s felt it off and on for a couple of days now. He ignores it, because he needs to focus on what he needs to do: Don’t strike out. Get Rhodey home. (Fuck Sam.)

He swings at the next one and hits it, but it’s a foul, Steve can feel it in the split-second before the call. Damn Sam’s curveball. He also feels that twinge again, and he does a couple of twists in an attempt to work it out before he steps up to the plate again.

Don’t strike out. Get Rhodey home. (Fuck Sam.)

Steve swings. He hits it, and it’s good. He drops the bat, starts to run—

Fuck, something’s wrong. He only makes it a few strides before that twinge in his lower back turns into real, visceral pain. He stumbles. Then there’s dirt between his fingers, and he sees the trainer’s shoes running at him. In his peripheral vision, Sam’s watching, a horrified expression on his face. The ball falls out of his glove— did Rhodey get home, then?

He must say this out loud because Coulson says, “Never mind Rhodey, where does it hurt?”

Steve tells him as he tries to get up, but Coulson holds him down. “Stay put, I’ve got the stretcher coming.”

“Stretcher?” Steve repeats. “I’m fine, it’s just a thing, it’s—”

A spasm clenches in his lower back when he moves again, and Coulson’s grip on his shoulder tightens.

“How long has this been going on?” he asks firmly. “You know you’re supposed to come to me if—”

“I know,” Steve cuts him off. “I don’t know what this is, Phil. My back’s been a bit sore, but I didn’t think it was serious.”

Coulson’s mouth draws into a thin line.

“Couple of days,” Steve adds, answering the question. “That’s it, I swear.”

“Thank you,” Coulson says pointedly.

He ends up waving off the stretcher — thank God — because Steve manages to get to his feet, and when he does, it’s like the volume of the world turns up again. The audience is clapping for him. 

_ That’s nice, _ Steve thinks, especially since they’re the away team from another division, and these fans only see them a few times per season. 

And Sam — he only sees Sam a few times per season, too. He meets Sam’s eyes and smiles as he hobbles off the field, trying to reassure him, but Sam is still staring, his glove hanging limply at his side.

***

After spending the eighth inning in the locker room, Steve gets to watch the last part of the game from the dugout, with an ice pack between his back and the bench. He’s feeling better; the spasms have stopped, at least. Coulson made him swallow an anti-inflammatory and scheduled him a session with the team PT on the day they return to LA. Steve’s going to be out of the lineup for the next few games, and that sucks, but it’s nothing serious, and at least he gets to watch Sam guilt-free now.

Sam catches sight of Steve on the bench when he comes up to bat, and his face transforms at once into a wide, relieved smile.

“What’s he grinning about?” grumbles Barton, who’s also injured on the bench beside him.

Steve doesn’t reply. He just nods, and Sam nods back, all business. Steve loves that about him.

Steve’s not much of a hitter, but Sam is, and he knows just where to put it — shortstop, where Steve would normally be. Steve grimaces as Barnes, who’s usually on first but is now covering for Steve, and Jones, the left fielder, get their wires crossed. It’s probably because they’re not used to playing together, but whatever the reason, Sam manages to get to second on what really should have been a single, and Coach Fury is not happy about it.

“Unbelievable!” he hollers. “My dead grandmother plays better baseball!”

Steve hides his grin with his hand. He’s been on the receiving end of Fury’s, well, fury, enough times to know that it’s all bark, that he’s a softie on the inside who keeps a bag of cat food in his desk drawer to feed the strays that hang out around Dodger Stadium. For obvious reasons, though, Steve would never mention this to Fury’s face.

There’s one upside to Sam being on second base: Steve’s got a clear view of him and his ball pants that tighten in all the right places as he shuffles side-to-side, trying to steal when Cage take his turn at bat. It turns out he doesn’t need to steal — Cage is a powerhouse like Thor and knocks it out of the park. With a grin as big as anything, Sam jogs home amid the roaring of the home crowd.

Sam looks so happy that Steve can’t bring himself to be sad about losing the game.


	2. Mets

Sam’s pacing in his living room, his phone clutched in his hand, when finally the buzzer goes off. He flies to the intercom, checks the screen, and lets out a huge sigh of relief.

“Come on up,” he tells Steve, hitting the button.

Steve looks tired when he gets to the door — did he look this tired last night? Sam can’t remember — but he’s smiling. He barely waits till they’re inside before he’s kissing Sam, surging up to meet his lips in a way that makes Sam forget that he’s really not a big guy.

“Mmf— baby,” Sam tries to say, even as he fumbles with the locks behind Steve’s back. Steve doesn’t let up, he’s desperate, licking into Sam’s mouth possessively.

_ To hell with the locks, _ Sam thinks, and he drops his hands to Steve’s hips, circling back to draw him closer—

—which is when Steve hisses, breaking the kiss, and Sam is hit with a reminder of what happened on the field tonight.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, stepping back instantly.

“It’s okay,” Steve tells him, even though he’s wincing, because Steve is bad at recognizing his own limits. “It’s just a little sore.”

“What is it?” Sam asks, then he realizes that this maybe isn’t a clear way to phrase his question. “The injury, I mean. What happened?”

“Phil says it’s just a strain,” Steve reports. “Nothing serious.”

“It looked serious,” Sam says quietly, without really meaning to.

“Yeah, I bet,” Steve agrees. He takes over locking the door, then heads towards the kitchen; he knows Sam’s place as well as Sam knows his. “My lower back just seized up,” he explains. “Muscle spasms. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t do anything. Like a machine with no oil or something.”

Sam nods. His shoulder gets like that sometimes, especially if he goes too hard for too long.

“Anyway,” says Steve, filling a glass of water from the fridge. “Standard RICE, seeing the PT day after tomorrow.”

“Off the roster?” Sam asks.

“For a little while,” Steve answers.

Sam watches him drink his water. Observes how he’s standing — with his shoulders slightly hunched, he seems even smaller than usual. Sam takes in the bags under his eyes, the washed-out look of his skin. He’s in pain.

“Come on,” Sam says. “Let’s lie down.”

Steve nods, sets his empty glass down, and moves in the direction of the couch, but Sam stops him.

“Bed, I think,” he says.

“Good call,” Steve agrees. He has an early flight tomorrow, as one of them always does on the day after their last game.

Thinking of this as they head down the hall, Sam adds, “You didn’t have to come over tonight.”

Steve sits on the bed and turns on Sam’s lamp. “Yes I did,” he said.

His soft smile is beautiful. The yellow lamplight eases the signs of pain that were so stark under the harsh kitchen light. Sam smiles back.

Steve stretches out on the left side of the bed, the side that’s always his when he’s here. It takes him a second to get comfortable, shifting against the mattress with a slight wince.

“Do you need another pillow?” Sam asks. “Or maybe an ice pack?”

Steve shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says.

“Because I can—”

“Sam,” Steve interrupts. He pats the bed beside him. “I just need you, okay?”

Sam’s warmed through and through — it’s not fair how Steve’s been able to do this to him since the day they met in Georgia — and he feels himself blushing as he sits beside him. He presses up close to Steve’s thigh, because he can’t help touching Steve when he’s here. 

Steve makes a quiet, happy noise and pulls Sam’s hand to his face. Sam inhales sharply at the sensation of Steve’s stubbled cheek on his skin, the brush of his warm lips, the hint of his tongue against his knuckles.

Sam bends over Steve, and Steve smiles up at him, waiting. Unable to resist, Sam kisses him — soft and slow, easy as things have always been easy between them. Steve’s fingers trace faint lines behind Sam’s ear where he’s sensitive, and Sam’s kiss becomes a little deeper, a little more desperate. He doesn’t mean to be, but he feels needy, like he can never be close enough to Steve.

Steve shuffles up to change the angle, his hands sliding down Sam’s back to squeeze at his hips. Sam brings his body fully onto the bed, now on all fours above Steve. Steve doesn’t open his eyes, but he makes another noise, a hungrier sound that Sam recognizes in the second before Steve’s hands land on his ass.

“No,” he says quietly, grasping Steve’s wrist and pulling it away. He tries to kiss him again to soften the refusal, but Steve pulls back.

“You don’t want that?” he asks, frowning. “I thought you always wanted that.”

Sam huffs out a laugh. “I do,” he admits. His face is flushed, even though he has no shame of admitting that in front of Steve. “Just not tonight. Not when you’re hurt.”

He leans in again, but apparently it’s Steve’s turn to stop him, putting a hand on his chest to block the kiss. His confused expression is looking more wounded now, and bordering on angry.

“I’m not hurt,” he says. “It’s nothing, I’m fine. I can still fuck you.”

“Baby,” Sam tries to protest, but his cock twitches, betraying his arousal at the thought. “I know you can, it’s just that you shouldn’t. Not in your condition.”

He realizes as soon as the words come out that they’re wrong — Steve’s face goes from possibly angry to downright pissed.

“My condition?” he repeats coldly.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Sam says at once. “I just meant that I don’t want you to make it worse. It’s not worth it.”

For a second, he’s sure that Steve’s going to fight him on this. Sam knows that he was sickly as a kid, and he hates feeling like people are babying him. Sam’s mother would say that he has a touch of the Small Man Syndrome, and Sam really doesn’t feel like getting into all of that tonight. Not when it’s the last night of their last series, and they won’t see each other for a while.

Unless— but he’s not allowed to talk about that yet.

Thankfully, the moment passes. Steve exhales, still looking unhappy, and shrugs. “You’re probably right,” he mutters.

He shifts under Sam and winces slightly again. Sam moves back at once. “Need to get up?”

“Yeah,” Steve says, and he does. “Coulson said lying down would be better than sitting, but I don’t know.”

“Maybe my bed is too soft,” Sam suggests. He’s often thought something similar, especially when he comes home from a road trip spent sleeping on hotel mattresses.

“Maybe,” Steve agrees. He gets to his feet, stretches. He, like Sam, is half-hard from their make-out session, and Sam realizes he wants more, that Steve is too far away from him.

“Can you lean?” he asks. Steve frowns in his direction. “Against a wall,” Sam clarifies.

“I think so,” says Steve. He presses his back against the surface of an open wall. “Sure. That feels good, actually.”

“Good,” Sam echoes. He goes to Steve and steps into his space. He can feel Steve’s breath against his jaw. He can count the pores on Steve’s nose. And he can feel Steve’s cock perking up between them at their closeness.

“This okay?” Sam asks. “Can I kiss you some more?”

At Steve’s nod, Sam takes his lips again. Steve, for once in his life, holds still and just lets himself be kissed — thoroughly, wantonly. Sam slips his fingers into Steve’s hair and musses it; he grips it and tugs gently, exposing the column of his throat. Sam’s mouth travels down it, and Steve’s hands are by Sam’s ears again, lighting up his all his nerve endings, sending pleasant shivers down his spine. He pants into Steve’s neck, and Steve’s hips start to rock, grinding his erection into Sam’s leg with a slow, hot inevitability.

And then, Sam has an idea. A really good idea.

He lifts his head, meets Steve’s eye. “I think I know how you can fuck me tonight, if you still want to.”

Steve’s pupils dilate. “I want to,” he says, somewhat cautiously.

“Okay,” says Sam. He drops his voice into a lower register as he runs his hand up Steve’s leg, to find his cock behind the zipper of his jeans. Steve gasps, and Sam feels a throb of sympathy in his own groin. “So here’s what we’re gonna do,” he says, regaining focus. “You just stay right where you are, and I’m gonna get down on my knees.”

“Oh,” Steve breathes. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard.  _ “Oh.” _

Sam suppresses a grin; Steve likes it so much when he talks dirty. “Yeah,” he drawls, playing it up just a little. “I’ll suck you off, baby, how’s that sound?”

“I don’t— I— okay,” Steve manages finally. Clearly Sam’s not the only one struggling to stay focused.

Sam squeezes Steve’s cock, trapped as it is by fabric. “Okay?”

“Okay,” Steve repeats, more sure this time. He licks his lips, and Sam just has to kiss him one more time before pulling away.

“If your back gets sore, you tell me,” he adds sternly. “We’ll do something else. It’s not worth you getting hurt.”

Steve nods. “Promise,” he says. Then, like he can’t help it, his eyes dart to the floor between them.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Sam laughs, lowering himself. “So fucking impatient, jeez.”

“You’re the one who got me all—”

Steve’s voice falters as Sam opens his jeans. Sam tugs his underwear down and laves the crown of Steve’s cock with his tongue, tasting the salty residue of sweat, along with faint traces of the soap Steve used in the shower after the game. Sam licks the shaft next, wetting it generously.   

“Riled up,” Steve finishes faintly.

Sam closes his lips around the tip of Steve’s dick and hums like they’re having a conversation, like either of them is capable of speech right now. He takes it deeper and sucks— hard.

“Jesus,” Steve mutters.

Sam pulls back, letting Steve’s cock come almost all the way out of his mouth before he takes it in again. Unfortunately, it’s too much, and he gags. He hasn’t done this since last winter — through the season, their sex life is pretty rushed — but after a couple of tries, he remembers how to relax his throat and take Steve deep.

Steve, for his part, doesn’t seem to have noticed Sam’s learning curve. When Sam glances up, his head’s tilted back, the tips of his shaggy blonde hair sticking up straight where they’re pressed against the wall. For long minutes, Sam sucks his cock and watches him — he loves seeing Steve like this, when the world has fallen away, and he’s just drunk on the moment.

“Mm,” says Steve, looking down like he can sense Sam’s eyes on him. “God, that’s good.”

Sam feels his face flush again with the praise, and he presses the heel of his hand into his now-kinda-desperate erection.

“You want to touch yourself, baby? You can,” Steve tells him. His voice is slurred, his eyes hazy with arousal. “That’d be pretty hot to see.”

Sam pulls off Steve’s cock and shakes his head. “After,” he says, to Steve and to his own body. He’s never been one for exhibitionism, and, besides, he’d rather Steve do it anyway.

“Okay,” Steve says affably. His hips nudge forward, just a hair.

“So impatient,” Sam says again. “The whole point of this is that you don’t have to move.”

“Right, right,” says Steve. He gives Sam that crooked grin that means he’s up to no good. “Maybe you better remind me how that’s supposed to work.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Maybe I’d better.”

He buries his nose in Steve’s groin and pulls his pants down to the ground, giving himself some more room to work with. Steve gasps, but Sam doesn’t let up, laying sloppy kisses along the root of his dick, all the way to the tip. Then he ducks down again, nudging Steve’s legs apart to toy with his testicles. They’re high and tight, and it’s a lot of fun to roll them around in his wet hands as he takes Steve’s cock deep again.

He keeps up this rhythm, building the pace as slowly as he can stand it. After all, he doesn’t know when he’s going to get a chance to do this again — unless that thing that he’s not allowed to talk about ends up happening. He’s going to enjoy himself tonight, dammit.

Before long, Steve is writhing above him, his hips rocking forward even though Sam told him not to move. Sam massages the head of Steve’s cock with his tongue as he brings his right hand up to jack him off, hard and slow the way he knows Steve loves it. For a smaller guy, he’s got a fair amount of dick; with Sam’s spit smoothing the way, he gets in a few long strokes before Steve chokes out a sound, and his hands land heavy on Sam’s shoulders.  

“God, fuck,” Steve manages. “I’m so close, Sam, please,  _ please—” _

Sam stops fucking around and speeds his pace, jerking Steve off with only a couple of quick pulls. Steve’s entire body tightens — his fingers dig into Sam’s shoulders to the point of pain, and he cries out as he comes. His familiar tangy-sweet taste floods Sam’s senses, and Sam swallows hurriedly, milking every drop he can while Steve shudders above him. 

Steve’s grip on his shoulders eases, little by little, and finally, he lets go. “Oof,” he says. 

Sam lets his softening cock slip out and wipes his mouth. Steve is looking up at the ceiling again, like he’s surprised to see it’s still there.

“Wow,” he adds a second later, and smiles down at Sam. “That was...”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees.

Steve slides down the wall until he’s level with him, and before Sam can say a word about his back injury — or about anything — Steve’s on him, kissing him down to the floor, sucking his tongue like he can’t get enough of his own taste.

Sam’s suppressed arousal comes back with a vengeance. Steve’s hands fumble between them, and a second later, Sam’s aching cock is free, springing up almost comically from under the edge of his shirt. Steve’s hand is cool, his lips are hot, and a few seconds is all it takes until Sam’s breathless. The friction is perfect, the sensation builds within him, desperate for release. 

Steve doesn’t tease, and he doesn’t let up. Two breaths later, Sam comes like flash flood, all crashing force and broken trees. He knows he bites Steve’s lip in midst of the deluge, but Steve keeps kissing him anyway. His touch is all that keeps Sam from getting swept away. 

Eventually, Steve collapses on top of Sam, spread-eagle and exhausted. They lie there, on the floor, half-dressed and messy. Sam’s fairly certain that he dozes off, because when he opens his eyes, Steve is blinking down at him fondly.

“Good way to end the series,” he says. “Last series of the season.”

It’s not pronounced, but there’s a tinge of sadness behind his words. Sam brushes back Steve’s hair and smiles, and in that moment, he makes a decision. He’s not supposed to talk about this yet, and his manager will ream him out if it ever comes to light, but, for fuck’s sake, he’s been sitting on this news all week, and it’s  _ Steve. _

If anyone’s worth getting in trouble for, it’s Steve.  

“San Francisco wants me,” Sam says. “It’s not public yet, but it’s pretty much a done deal.”

He watches as the news sinks in. Steve’s face goes from bewilderment to hope, and then from hope to joy.

“You’re getting traded?”

“I’m getting traded,” Sam confirms with a grin.

“Oh my god!” Steve shouts. He tries to get up, trips over his pants, which are still around his ankles. 

“Easy, easy,” Sam laughs, getting up with him. “You’ll hurt yourself.”

“Fuck hurting myself,” Steve retorts. He yanks his pants up impatiently. “You’re moving to California!”

“They’re still in talks,” Sam cautions. “But yes. Should be announced at the end of the week.”

Steve’s face falls somewhat. “You were gonna let me go back without telling me?”

Sam avoids Steve’s gaze by fixing his own pants. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” he tells the floor. “My manager’s probably gonna kill me if it gets out, so you can’t say a word, okay?”

He looks up finally, and finds that Steve’s expression is serious. He nods. “Promise.”

Sam smiles and pulls him near again. “I didn’t want to let you go back without telling you,” he says. “But I also didn’t want to get your hopes up, in case it falls through.”

“I understand,” Steve says, raising his arms to wrap Sam up in a hug. “Thanks for telling me.”

“I love you,” Sam replies, kissing his hair. “You ought to be the first to know.”

“Love you, too,” says Steve. He squeezes Sam tight, then lets him go. “But seriously, if you start playing for the Giants, I’m contractually obliged to kick your ass.”

Sam laughs out loud. “Baby, I wouldn’t expect anything less.”


	3. Epilogue: Division Rivals

“Knock it outta the park, Stevie!” Jones shouts from second base.

Steve pulls on his helmet and walks to the plate. Bottom of the fifth, one out, they’re down by three. Lots of time to even it up. Barnes got Jones to second, now Steve can bring him home, and, if he’s lucky, he can score, too.

Then the Giants pitcher smirks at him under the stadium lights, and Steve has to correct himself. He’s playing with Sam; of course he’s gonna score. 

**Author's Note:**

> You can connect with me on [Dreamwidth](https://mrs-d.dreamwidth.org/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/mrs_dawnaway), since I'm trying to kick my Tumblr addiction. I'm also active in a few chats on Discord; let me know if you want to join!


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